Mo Xuan continued his normal routine, and slowly, without him quite noticing, the year drew itself to a close. Through the remaining six months, he spent most of his free hours seated beside the Moon Dew Grass, hoping the strange sensation would return if he simply waited long enough. It never did. Instead, that stretch of quiet, fruitless waiting taught him something he hadn't expected to learn: some things could not be forced, no matter how badly he wanted to understand them.
So he stopped forcing it, and continued walking forward instead.
And without quite realising it, the boy who had once known nothing beyond his father's face had begun, slowly and quietly, to change.
When his medicinal field duty finally came to an end, Mo Xuan reported to Elder Zhao one last time to formally close out the assignment. The handful of companions he'd made over the past year gathered to see him off, each of them insisting he come visit whenever he had the time. Even Elder Zhao, whose stern demeanour had never once softened in all the months Mo Xuan had served under him, pressed a small bundle of rare herbs into his hands. "For a job well done," the elder said simply, before turning back to his fields without another word — though Mo Xuan thought he caught the faintest trace of a smile in the man's eyes before he did.
From the fields, Mo Xuan made his way to the Mission Hall to collect his contribution points, and from there went straight to check on his master. He learned instead that Han Long was away from the sect entirely, off attending to some important duty of his own. His master had left behind only a brief message — cultivate diligently, continue taking sect missions as he saw fit, and above all, begin preparing for the coming sect examination.
The following morning, Mo Xuan woke well before dawn. He lay still for a long moment, staring up at the wooden ceiling above his bed, letting the silence settle around him. After an entire year spent among the medicinal fields, returning to the main sect felt strange in a way he couldn't quite name — the atmosphere around him had shifted somehow, subtly.
From that morning onward, he threw himself back into the rhythm of sect life, completing one mission after another without ever letting his cultivation and swordsmanship slip. Time, he found, moved faster than he expected once he stopped counting the days individually. Disciples who had been away on missions began trickling back into the sect.
It wasn't long before word began spreading through the sect like wildfire: the mysterious new student named Mo Xuan — who had, as far as anyone could tell, never once set foot in a classroom — would be participating in the upcoming examination.
The announcement caused an uproar. Bets were placed almost immediately, most of them favouring Qin Hao and Feng Yan, the two celebrated prodigies of Class One. But the moment rumours surfaced that Mo Xuan's mentor was none other than Elder Han Long — the notoriously eccentric "Drunken Elder" — the betting odds flipped overnight, as though the entire sect had collectively reconsidered its assumptions in the space of a single afternoon.
In one of the sect's private villas, an elderly man addressed his disciple, his tone measured and deliberate. "I've heard he's to become Elder Han's disciple. That man doesn't take students lightly — whatever reputation you've built for yourself, don't let it convince you to underestimate this boy if you happen to face him."
"Yes, Master," Qin Hao replied, his voice carrying the easy confidence of someone who had never yet been given reason to doubt himself. Level 34, Beast Soul: Heavenly Wolf.
In another villa across the sect, an elegant woman ran her fingers gently through Feng Yan's hair, her expression calm but watchful. "Do not let anything disturb your heart," she murmured. "Face every storm with calm, and let the storm exhaust itself against you."
Feng Yan said nothing, only nodding once in silent acknowledgement. Level 33, Weapon Soul: Frostmoon Sword.
Whispers continued to spread in the sect, and anticipation for the coming examination built with each passing day.
Over two years slipped by.
Mo Xuan was fourteen now, and stood beneath the old tree in his courtyard — taller than he had once been, the softness of childhood long since gone from his face. His black hair fell loosely around his shoulders, and his features had sharpened into something more deliberate, more defined. His eyes, too, had changed; they sat deeper now, calmer, carrying a weight that hadn't been there before. He wore white robes embroidered with a faint runic design, lending him an almost otherworldly presence, and even his aura felt different — heavier, quieter, harder to read.
His cultivation had shifted just as dramatically. He had long since crossed beyond the Soul Practitioner Realm and now stood firmly in the middle stage of the Soul Master Realm — Level 34.
He slowly opened his eyes, letting the courtyard come back into focus around him. It had been over two years since he'd last laid eyes on his master. Three months ago, he'd stopped accepting new missions altogether, choosing instead to focus entirely on preparation. He had been part of the sect for some years now, and tomorrow — finally — was the day of the Sect Examination. With that thought settling over him, he rose and made his way back into his room, intent on calming his mind, reviewing everything he had learned, and making whatever final preparations remained before the day arrived.
Then the day finally came. The entire Azure Cloud Sword Sect stirred with an energy it rarely saw, disciples pouring into the outer and inner sect grounds until the pathways themselves seemed to hum with anticipation.
The advancement examination had never been merely a test for new disciples — it also served as the sect's opportunity to measure the growth of its younger generation as a whole. Some disciples came hoping to prove themselves against their peers. Others sought access to better cultivation resources, resources that would otherwise remain out of reach for years. A few hoped to catch the eye of a powerful elder who might take them on as a personal disciple.
Mo Xuan wanted only one thing.
To fulfil his promise.
He adjusted his robes with quiet, unhurried care, then picked up his sword and stepped outside without a backward glance.
By the time he arrived, the plaza was already thick with disciples. Hundreds of them stood clustered around the enormous examination platform, while several elders sat watching from above on the main stage. At the centre of it all remained the same stone examination slab he remembered from years ago — the very spot where he had once stood as a nervous ten-year-old boy, uncertain of everything except his own determination.
Now he walked toward that same plaza as someone else entirely. Several disciples turned to look as he passed. Some recognised him immediately; others clearly didn't, their eyes sliding over him with curiosity before moving on. Mo Xuan paid neither reaction any mind — his expression remained calm, unreadable, exactly as it had been for months now.
The examiner raised a single hand, and a silent pressure rolled outward from his body, pressing the crowd's chatter into immediate silence.
"This year's examination will be conducted within a trial region," the examiner announced, his voice carrying easily across the plaza. "The sect has extended the duration to ten days, to give every disciple sufficient opportunity to demonstrate their abilities."
His gaze swept slowly across the assembled crowd before he continued. "The rules remain simple." He counted them off, each phrase landing with deliberate weight. "Hunt Beasts. Collect their cores. Accumulate enough contribution to advance and survive."
His voice grew more solemn as he added, "Your final ranking will depend entirely on what you accomplish within those ten days." With a wave of his hand, talismans flew out toward each of the assembled participants, settling into their palms. "Activate this if you wish to withdraw," he explained. "Make no mistake — the danger within the trial zone is real, and it is entirely possible to die there. If you find yourself in a situation you cannot handle, do not hesitate. Activate the talisman and return."
Mo Xuan stood quietly among the disciples participating in the examination. A massive formation beneath their feet flared to life. Ancient runes spread rapidly across the platform's surface, and the space surrounding them began to warp and distort.
Mo Xuan drew one final steady breath.
The world blurred around him.
Hum!
A powerful spatial force swept over his body, and for a moment he felt utterly weightless, suspended somewhere between one place and another. The voices of the other disciples faded into nothing. The examination platform itself seemed to dissolve away entirely.
For several long breaths, there was only emptiness.
Then—
Bang!
Mo Xuan landed hard against soft earth. He crouched immediately, senses alert, eyes sweeping the area around him. A dense forest surrounded him on every side, tall trees swallowing most of the available sunlight and casting the ground below into deep, mottled shadow.
He rose slowly to his feet and let his Spiritual Sense spread outward.
No disciples nearby. He was alone. The examination formation must have scattered us across different parts of the trial zone, he thought, turning the idea over as he studied his surroundings more carefully.
The forest was unusually quiet — too quiet, if he was being honest with himself. He could sense several Spirit Beasts somewhere in the distance, their presence faint but unmistakable, though none of them seemed inclined to approach. There was something else in the air too, something harder to define. A faint mist, so thin it was almost invisible.
Mo Xuan narrowed his eyes; his expression shifted. "Interesting," he murmured under his breath.